


Dragon Age Drabble Collection

by EarlGreyWardens



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Dancing, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prank Wars, Romance, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-07-21 03:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarlGreyWardens/pseuds/EarlGreyWardens
Summary: Drabbles inspired by the world of Thedas and the people who live there. Enjoy!





	1. Table of Contents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Details on the pairings and themes found in each drabble.

1\. **Table of Contents**

  * Congrats, you're already here. Isn't this helpful?



2\. **Dance Lessons** (Cullen x Trevelyan)

  * Pre-romance, Humor, Rated T



3\. **Nurse Zev** (Alistair x Zevran)

  * Friendship, Humor, Rated T



4\. **Confessions** (Cullen x OC Trevelyan)

  * Romance, New relationship, Rated M



5\. **Petty Witchery** (Morrigan, Zevran x Brosca)

  * Friendship, Humor, Rated T



6\. **Come What May** (Iron Bull x Cadash)

  * Hurt/comfort, Established relationship, Rated M



7\. **Reunions** (Cullen x Alistair)

  * Romance, Rekindled relationship, Rated E




	2. Dance Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "Do we really have to do this again?"
> 
> In which a non-romanced Cullen is forced to dance and everyone is behaving ridiculously.

"Lighter on your feet, Commander. This isn't a march through the Wilds."

Cullen cast a long-suffering look in Josephine's direction before focusing his attention back on his footwork. His timing was off and he knew it, though in his defense, Sera wasn't the most agreeable dance partner. She kept switching positions to get a rise out of him, pressing her hand firmly on his lower back and leading them both into dizzying circles.

There was to be a modest ball to celebrate the Inquisitor's triumph over Calpernia. Two nights of dancing and drinking to honor a woman who had spent the better part of a year defending Thedas from a fate worse than death. The whole notion rubbed Cullen the wrong way. He found himself growing weary just thinking about it, but he'd been outnumbered in his opinion. Being forced to make nice with the Orlesian nobility was tiresome enough without having to worry about tripping over someone's dress and inadvertently starting a blood feud.

Solas and Trevelyan were doing nothing to bolster his confidence. Every time he caught a glimpse of the other pair, they were gliding effortlessly across the floor in perfect sync. He knew there had to be a reason for Solas' good cheer. The elf had been so keen on the idea of dance rehearsal that he'd suggested they use the atrium. Everyone knew how much he valued his privacy. Now his change in demeanor was starting to make sense, the cocky bastard.

Cullen was so caught up in watching them that he missed his step again, causing Sera to trip over his boot.

"Oi! Pull yourself t'gether," she chided. "Or do _I_ have to lead again?"

He released her with a frustrated huff as the music came to a lull. "Forget it. I have more important matters to attend to, anyhow."

Josephine clicked her tongue and motioned for him to stay where he was. "I'm afraid this practice is _mandatory_ , Commander. We can't have the leader of the Inquisition's forces lumbering around the dance floor like a mabari on two legs, can we?"

"Gotta look on the bright side, yeah?," Sera giggled. "Mister Military's stick-up-the-arse posture is _very_ erect."

He could hear Solas' scoff of a laugh from across the room.

"This is pointless," Cullen protested. "The ball will carry on just as well without me, I assure you."

He could feel a headache coming on. If he played his cards right, he could be locked away in his tower in under five minutes. The thought filled him with a small, albeit futile hope. He could imagine it, the blessed relief of solitude, where he could revise his notes for the following morning's war table meeting and possibly get in some recreational reading before sleep overcame him.

"Let's try a switch!" Trevelyan suggested, letting go of the elf's hand and making her way over. He managed a half smile when she placed that same hand on his arm, though he was unsure what to make of the twinkle in her eyes. He couldn't bring himself to trust it. Still, the thought of having her as a dance partner wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"Excellent idea. From the top!" Josephine called, signaling the music to begin.

"Do we _really_ have to do this again?" It was a last-ditch plea, but it sounded more like a whine.

Trevelyan's laughter pulled him out of his self-pity. "If you don't mind me saying so, you're thinking too much," she smiled, reaching for his hand and guiding it to her waist. It felt seamless, the way she placed a hand on his shoulder while their free ones instinctively came together. "Dancing is about existing in the moment. If you think too far ahead, you're bound to slip up."

Cullen gave a curt nod and attempted to lead them in a slow waltz. He knew his movements weren't the most graceful, but his partner knew how to predict his mistakes. His softly stammered apologies were met with easy words of encouragement. She swept in before every misstep, guiding him back in line with her smaller body until they were engaged in what some might consider a dance. For a few exhilarating moments, he even felt them glide.

"Note-worthy advice, it would seem." Solas' voice was droll, but his expression was pleasant enough as he regarded the Commander.

"There's no denying it," Cullen replied, quirking a smile as the music began to slow and he and Trevelyan let their arms fall back at their sides. She was practically beaming up at him. The sight gave his stomach an odd fluttery feeling that he didn't care to examine. Instead, he redirected his thoughts to that stack of reports waiting for him in his office. It was high time he took his well-deserved leave.

He tilted his head in a courteous bow, but before he could offer her his proper thanks, the room was filled with the sound of urgent footfalls coming down the spiral stairwell. Heads turned to watch as Dorian rounded the corner and entered the room with a loud clap of his hands. "Bravo, bravo! Very well done, Inquisitor," he grinned, nudging Trevelyan in the shoulder with a wink. "If that performance was any indication, you'll make a gentleman of him yet."

"I think you may be right," she winked back. "He's a rather quick study."

"Maker's breath," Cullen sighed. His eyes wandered to the archway leading to the battlements. He was nearly two strides away from freedom when he felt a solid hand grip him by the wrist. Dorian spun him around with a strength and speed he hadn't been expecting, resulting in their broad chests colliding with a low grunt. The mage's hand found his back in no time at all, closing what small gap remained between them and forcing Cullen into an upright position.

"Brace yourself, Commander," he said boldly. "Trevelyan may have covered the basic footwork, but you're about to be dealt a lesson in _intrigue._ "

Cullen swallowed hard as Josephine's voice rang out, "From the top!"

 


	3. Nurse Zev

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "Can you feel this?"
> 
> In which Alistair asks Zevran for a favor. He probably should've known better.

"Hey... _hey, pssst!_ Zevran!"

The elf turned away from the campfire and settled his gaze on Alistair, who was beckoning him over from behind the trunk of a large tree. Something was amiss. ~~~~The Warden had disappeared to wash up before his evening meal, but his bath had evidently been cut short. There was still water dripping from his mess of copper hair.

Zevran stood at his own leisure, casually brushing the dirt from his knees. Alistair's impatience wasn't lost on him as he meandered over, pausing halfway to give his arms a good stretch before finally making his way to the other man's side. "What can I do for you, my friend? If you need some assistance washing your back, I would be more than happy to --"

"Er, no. _Nope._ Definitely not that," Alistair cut him off.

"Then why such secrecy?"

Caramel eyes shifted from side to side, checking to see if any of the more feminine members of their party were present. Once he sensed the coast was clear, Alistair relented. "I was washing my back -- _alone_ \-- and I felt something a bit... odd?" He lifted up his linen shift, slightly dampened, exposing the lower half of his muscular back. "There's a knot or something," he began, reaching down and ghosting his fingers over a tender red bump just above his pants. "Is it just me, or can you feel this?"

Zevran tried not to grin too broadly as he crouched down, bringing himself eye-level with the curious lump. "My dear Warden! I must admit, I'm touched that you would think to consult me in matters of such a... _personal_ nature."

"Oh, don't start," Alistair groaned, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"Fine, fine... No fun, as usual," Zevran sighed, lightly swatting the other man's hand out of the way. He leaned forward just an inch to get a closer look. The red bump appeared to be a mosquito bite. It was rather large and inflamed, but certainly nothing to fret over. He gave it a soft prod with his fingers, withdrawing almost immediately when his comrade let out a hiss.

"Is it bad? It's bad, isn't it?" Alistair asked, teetering on the edge of panic.

It would've been a shame if he didn't take the opportunity to push him over.

"I'm afraid so," the elf replied darkly. "The mark of the Blight spider."

"The mark of the _what?!_ "

Zevran slowly rose up with a sympathetic shrug. "Don't tell me you Fereldens are unaware of the deadly Blight spider? The mark will spread, no doubt. It won't be long now before the poison stoppers your blood flow and turns your brain to jelly."

The tension in Alistair's shoulders went slack as he turned to look behind him, glaring the elf down with pursed lips. His eyes held none of their usual amusement. "Riiiight. Ha-ha, lesson learned. Never ask Zevran for a second opinion on anything, _ever._ Got it."

Zevran grinned openly now, his eyes alight with mischief. "Though it pains me to say it, I fear the only course of action is to have someone suck the poison from your infected wound," he said with a somber nod. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the tree, quirking an eyebrow in mock consideration. "Perhaps I should fetch Morrigan..."

Alistair barked out an uneasy laugh and let his underclothes fall back over the bump. He practically shivered at the thought. "I think I'd sooner die in a ditch with a jellied brain, thank you very much."

"Oh? Not to your liking, eh?" His smile turned sly. "What about your fellow Grey Warden?"

Alistair spun around and shoved a finger in the elf's smug face. "Don't you dare." The panic was back, and his cheeks burned with a blush so red it was visible in the dim evening light. "Let's just forget about this, alright? I'm sure Wynne has something that will help."

"Ooh, an _older_ woman. I like the way you think, Alistair."

"I wish I could say the same," he replied flatly. "I really do."


	4. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "I know you do."
> 
> In which Cullen lets her know. ♡

The setting sun cast shadows over the battlements, painting the Frostbacks in royal shades of gold, crimson and blue.

They had come to admire the view and get away, even if only for a few minutes, but now they were lost in a world all their own. Gloved hands grasped for purchase while Cullen drove their kisses deeper and deeper, becoming acquainted with her lips and tongue more intimately than he'd ever dared before. He adored the way she felt in his arms, so small and strong and eager to have him.

There was definitely something to be said about her assertive nature. It made him prone to boldness; a side of himself he wasn't overly familiar with when it came to matters of the heart. Being alone with her always meant discovering something new. It had only been a few short weeks since the kissing started, but Trevelyan was already causing some major shifts in his priorities. For once, he was grateful for the distraction.

Cullen groaned against her mouth when she wound her fingers in his hair and gripped him at the roots, pulling him down to her level. She pressed her body into his and caught his lower lip between her teeth before diving back in, urging his mouth open wider with her lips. He indulged, roaming the shape of her with his hands until he was cupping her face, feeling her softness against the stubble of his jaw.

Time didn't seem to be a factor until he felt he was growing short of breath. He sensed she was right there with him. Their kissing slowed until they finally broke away, panting for air as they each got caught in the other's gaze.

He marveled at her, and she at him. There was a sincerity in her deep blue eyes that sent a rush of affection straight to his heart. How strange and wonderful to have found her in the midst of so much chaos. She stared up at him with swollen, parted lips, and he felt inclined to caress her cheeks with his thumbs. She reacted in kind, reaching up and winding her arms around his neck.

The knight-commander nearly came undone when she stood on her toes and pressed the softest of kisses to the scar above his lip. Trevelyan loved to do that. She said it made her feel like she was helping to heal things from a time before they knew each other. He couldn't help but think the same thing when he looked at her. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned forward and brought his lips to the scar that tore across her left eye. He did his best to will away her pain from years ago as he pressed sweet kisses to her brow, her lid, and further down her cheek.

When his words finally came, they were spoken against her lips. "I hope you know... I _do_ , very much."

Trevelyan buried her fingers in his curls and regarded him with love-drunk eyes.

"I know you do," she whispered back, her smile apparent in her voice as she went in for another kiss.

_'As do I.'_


	5. Petty Witchery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "Take what you need."
> 
> In which Brosca is in a prank war with Alistair. Morrigan offers her expertise.

Morrigan sat up in her bedroll, disturbed by a rustling outside her tent. She was just about to poke her head out to investigate when Brosca flung open the flaps and welcomed herself inside. The dwarf looked more than a little irked. She gave Morrigan a grunt in lieu of a proper greeting, her eyes clearly searching for something.

"To what do I owe this honor?" Morrigan asked dryly.

Brosca, having found what she was looking for, knelt down by the witch's apothecary stash and started perusing her collection of vials. She gave them each a turn, eyes narrowing at the labels, trying to decipher their spidery scrawl. Zevran had supposedly been teaching her how to read in various surfacer languages, but judging by the unholy noises coming from their tent each night, there wasn't much reading going on. "Don't worry about it," the dwarf replied casually. "I just need to borrow something."

"On the contrary! When a Grey Warden interrupts my sleep and starts rummaging through my private things, I can only assume the situation must be dire."

Brosca hung her head and sighed. "It's Alistair. He's been grating on my nerves ever since we left Redcliffe, and just now he--"

"I need no further explanation," Morrigan interrupted. "Take what you need. 'Tis no trouble at all."

The witch leaned forward and examined the vial in Brosca's hand. "Extract of leadwort. Interesting choice," she said consideringly. "T'would give him quite the rash if we were to line his smallclothes with a few strategically placed drops..."

"Oh, so this is a 'we' mission now?" Brosca asked with a wry smile.

"I don't see why not," Morrigan replied. "If my possessions are to be forfeit, should I not have a say in how they are used?"

"I see your point. What else have you got?"

Grinning wickedly, Morrigan retrieved a clear bottle from her kit and gave it a little shake. The bodies of small dried creatures clinked against the glass. They looked like reptiles of some kind, but Brosca didn't recognize them. She gawked with curious eyes and looked to her partner-in-crime for answers.

"Hand me my mortar and pestle. I shall grind them down to a fine powder, which you and the elf can cunningly sneak into his supper," she explained. "T'would think it a simple task. With the way Alistair wolfs down his meals, I doubt he will even notice the taste."

Brosca nodded and handed her the tools she asked for. "What'll it do, exactly?"

" _That,_ my friend, will become clear in due time," Morrigan laughed, sounding a tad sinister. "I assure you, the results will be quite amusing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, Alistair.


	6. Come What May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "At least it can't get any worse."
> 
> In which Bull comforts Cadash after Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't romanced Bull, so my apologies if his voice is off. Hopefully it's still a sweet read that makes you go 'aww'.

The abandoned spire was one of many forgotten nooks in Skyhold, left untouched by repairs. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust and the air smelled heavy with mildew. It was dark and dank, but it was her favorite place to hide away when the weight of her new title wore her down. Everyone was looking to her now -- a lowlife surfacer -- like she was Thedas' last hope. She knew how to pull it together and play the part when she needed to, but when she was alone with her thoughts, her brave facade was quick to unravel.

Cadash eyed the empty expanse of wall where a portrait of some Ferelden lady in a frilly dress used to hang. It was already smudged with yesterday's dried blood. There were probably much more practical coping methods she could've chosen, but this would do in a pinch. Pain was a familiar sensation, and she thrived on it. She inhaled, readied her stance, and went in full force with a right jab.

Red hot pain shot through her knuckles and flooded up her arm, but she was already in for a second swing. Then another, and another. She spat out a string of curses as she hammered her small fists into unyielding stone. Even with her eyes screwed shut, she could see their faces, pale and panic-stricken. Those who died under her so-called leadership during the attack on Haven. She resented them bitterly for their willingness to throw themselves in the line of fire, knowing full well their chances of survival were slim. It was their faith in the Inquisition that gave them the strength to do so, but where were they now? Charred to a crisp, their ashes buried under piles of snow.

Blood began to pool in her gloves. The warm, sticky sensation only egged her on. She let out a cry as she slammed her fists against the stone again and again. The pain began to subside, leaving only a dulling numbness that meant she could keep going. She hated the sting of tears that began to well behind her eyes. There was nothing to be done to stop them when her grief and anger overwhelmed her.

Cadash could only hear the pounding of her own heartbeat. It rang so loudly in her ears, drowning out the screams of those who had fallen under her banner. She didn't even hear someone enter until she felt two massive arms hook underneath her own, lifting her away from the wall as if she were a rag doll. She kicked and cursed, but the arms held her fast as her captor lowered them both to the floor.

"Easy now, boss," a familiar voice spoke against her ear. "I think that's enough." The last of her control was quick to disappear in his sturdy embrace. She slumped against his chest as a heartbreaking sob shook her body. The tears flowed down her face in steady streams, her shoulders quivering with each new wave.

Bull kept silent as he held her in his lap. He loosened his grip on her a bit, allowing her to turn around and wrap her arms around his bare torso. She was such a small thing by comparison. He struggled not to smile when he felt her try to clasp her hands behind his back, her reach falling short by several inches. "I... I couldn't save them," she cried, her words muffled against his chest.

His smile disappeared as he ran his hand along her back in large, comforting strokes. "I know," he rumbled. "Doesn't always work that way."

Cadash broke into another wave of sobs. She gripped him tighter as she wailed out her misery.

"That's the nature of the beast," he continued. "Sometimes you can fight for something with everything you've got, and people will still die."

She lifted her reddened face to look up at him. "They _trusted_ me, Bull."

"Mm-hm," he nodded, placing a hand on top of her head. "They saw the way you faced down those Venatori bastards. Gave them the hope they needed."

There was so much pain in her eyes as she bit back another sob. "But it wasn't enough."

Bull let out a sigh and angled her chin to face him. "I was there too, and you know what I saw?"

Cadash quietly shook her head.

"I saw a crazy dwarf about the size of a nug rush at a fucking _Archdemon_. One of the finest warriors of her kind," he said with a grin, lightly ruffling her hair. "I knew then that me and my men were right where we're supposed to be. Fighting as members of the Inquisition, even if that means we face an early death."

His words seemed to reach her in a place she'd tried to keep hidden.

They didn't stop her tears, though Bull suspected now she was crying for a different reason.

"Hey, hey... it's gonna be alright," he cooed. "I mean, at least it can't get any worse?"

He almost lurched in surprise when Cadash laughed. It was a tinkering sound, caught halfway between a sob and a giggle. She leaned back in his lap and roughly wiped the tears from her eyes. "That's got to be the most idiotic thing I've ever heard," she finally managed to get out. "Bull, not only could things get _worse_ , they could... this could mean the end of..."

Bull's own laughter echoed in the spire. He lifted one of her bloody gloves to his mouth and gave it a quick kiss.

"Let's say you're right and it's all downhill from here," he began. "When the time comes and we're forced to face the end, we'll be ready."

Cadash allowed herself a weak smile. "Together?"

"Together," he smirked, pulling her in for another hug. "The end's not gonna know what hit it."


	7. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen lands a date with a former lover. Cullistair!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E rating for Cullen's nsfw thoughts.  
> CullenLovesMen and McLavellan are to blame!

He makes a conscious effort to slow his steps as he descends the stairs to the chantry garden. _Mustn't appear too eager,_ he tells himself. It was entirely possible the man wouldn't even remember him. Twelve years was a long time to carry a torch. _Not a torch,_ he mentally reprimands. More like... a mutual fondness, not uncommon between friends.

For all his assurance, Cullen stills when he sees them in the courtyard. The Warden has his back turned to him as he speaks with Morrigan, but he can recognize the man from his posture alone. Alistair stands upright with his arms folded across his chest, braced and relaxed all at once. He lightly sways while he speaks, knocking the toe of his boot against the stone dais to shake loose the caked-on mud from his travels.

Morrigan catches the Knight-Commander's gaze as he steps closer and politely excuses herself from Alistair's company. She brushes past Cullen with a sway of her hips, casting him a knowing tilt of her head. He'd ordinarily say something dismissive to wipe that smug grin off her face, but he can't be bothered with her now. Too single-minded. Too distracted by the the sound of his own pulse _._

Eight steps more, and he's close enough to hear the royal blue fabric of the Warden's uniform rumple and crease against his armor as he shifts from side to side. Cullen reaches a hand back to rub the nape of his neck and nonchalantly clears his throat.

When Alistair Theirin turns around to face him, he scarcely remembers to breathe.

There's a darkness surrounding the man's eyes that wasn't there the last time they spoke, but the warmth in them is undeniably familiar as his face glazes over with recognition. "Rutherford?" Alistair's entire disposition brightens, a genuine smile gracing his features as he lets out a startled laugh. "Don't tell me you've gone and gotten yourself mixed up in this mess, as well?!"

Alistair closes the gap between them like a mabari eager to greet his master, and while it isn't the reaction Cullen expected, he finds himself mirroring his old friend's excitement. "It would seem so," he replies with a chuckle. "In all fairness, I hardly expected to see you of all people --"

Before he can finish his thought, Alistair throws his arms around him. He pulls him close for a tight, albeit brief embrace. The bright citrus of his aftershave is dizzying, leaving Cullen in a fog of nostalgia as he recalls the young man he knew so many years ago. He can scarcely believe he's here with him now, after everything that's happened.

"Maker..." Alistair breathes as he releases him. "Has it really been over ten years?"

"Twelve," Cullen answers, perhaps too quickly. He casts a glance over Alistair's face, noticing the slightly wide set of his jaw, the crow's feet creasing the corners of his eyes, the new scars ticked across his cheekbones and the bridge of his lengthy nose. They've both aged, undoubtedly, but the spark of mischief in Alistair's amber gaze ignites something exciting and familiar. "The years have treated you well, Alistair," he grins, lowering his voice as he does so.

Alistair laughs again, and the sound crashes over Cullen like a tidal wave, bringing with it a flash of rose-tinted memories. "What can I say? I've always been a beautiful, beautiful man."

There was no arguing with him there, and Cullen finds his eyes wandering to the other man's mouth when he speaks.

Alistair always had the most endearing pout. The sort of lips that had a tendency to lead his mind astray. Staring at them now, he conjures up the haziest recollection of that mouth around his cock. Hot and slick and welcoming, his fingers buried deeply in a twist of copper hair.

The visions send a jolt of sensation straight to his groin. He can feel his girth twitch and pulse against the leather of his pants, and judging by the sly arch of Alistair's eyebrow, his slight shifting hasn't gone unnoticed. _Maker,_ that didn't take long.

The Warden looks as if he's about to say something clever. He starts, pauses, thinks better of it and withdraws.

"Though it pains me to slip away so soon, I'm afraid I'm already promised to your spymaster for the afternoon," Alistair says with a shrug, visibly reluctant. Cullen doesn't have to wonder if he means it. "Leliana says we have a lot to catch up on, and I imagine she's right."

Cullen nods curtly and clasps his hands strategically near his belt. "Oh, o-of course. By all means, don't let me keep you," he says hurriedly. He loathes to have their reunion cut short, but all things considered, he would gladly welcome some privacy. "I trust I'll see you tomorrow morning at the war table?"

"Tomorrow morning?" Alistair pauses to consider, pursing those damnable lips. "Seems like ages from now. Why don't I just... y'know... pop by your quarters later this evening? I could smuggle you a snifter of Antivan brandy, just like the good ol' days," he chuckles. His laughter does little to mask the sincerity in his voice. "Might give us a chance to do some catching up of our own?" He sounds _hopeful._ Tentative, even. "Unless you're too busy, of course."

Cullen can feel his heart thrumming steadily against his rib cage, but his voice is even and smooth. "I'm sure I can make some time," he smiles cordially. "Eight o'clock?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Alistair smiles back. "By your leave, Knight-Commander?"

"Carry on, Grey Warden," he replies, just a hint of mock authority ringing in his voice.

Having been granted permission, Alistair offers a playful salute and heads for the main hall, but not before allowing his gaze to once again fall below Cullen's belt. He bites at his bottom lip, averts his gaze, and disappears from view.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing; all rights go to the respective owners and creators.


End file.
